


The Moment that Never Comes

by CrystallizedTears



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 18:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11408289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystallizedTears/pseuds/CrystallizedTears
Summary: 3x13 insert - on the beach with Clarke, Bellamy has a realisation and a hope. But there is always another pressing matter and the moment is never, ever right for them. One shot.





	The Moment that Never Comes

**Author's Note:**

> A moment tucked away in 3x13, when seeking Luna. During my rewatch, I couldn't help but imagine what was going through Bellamy's head on the beach with Clarke, and some of those looks he gave her just broke my heart. And thus, a head canon was born. I really wish this were true ...

The moment is never right.

Bellamy feels like it could be, but that could be the emotion overwhelming him. He's lost his sister, destroyed her trust with stupid – completely and utterly _ridiculously_ stupid – actions. Things he should never have done, he can see that now.

But that doesn't change the reason the only other man she ever knew how to love is dead.

And in front of him now, sharing this moment of weakness with him, is the woman who makes him feel what his sister felt for the Grounder.

She knows who he is. She's always known who he is. And how to ask the hard questions.

It sounds simple enough. 'Will you forgive yourself?'

For which bit? There's so much he needs forgiveness for. So many things he's done wrong, to everyone around him. Everything he's touched has gone to shit.

'Forgiveness is hard for us.' It sounds like a cop-out, even to him. Clarke has forgiven him. Many times over. She has hated him and cared for him and when he's needed it, she's been there for him with the forgiveness he's been seeking ever since Octavia first complained about being locked under the floor.

He cares for her. Because of that, he trusts her implicitly. He cares for her almost as deeply as he cares for his sister. Maybe even more so. He can't tell anymore.

But she left him. She is the only one he's ever felt he could be honest with, the only one who understands what it's like to have the mantle of leader thrust upon you (although to be fair, he did once grab at it, but he never knew it would turn into a bloody battle to survive).

'I was so angry at you for leaving.' The words sound harsh, but right now he doesn't care. The grief has morphed into momentary anger at her. He can't tell her. He hasn't told her yet, and he doesn't see how he can tell her _now_.

They came here to find Luna, to save their friends, and they've failed. She's not here. They've lost. He can't tell her right now, knowing that everyone else they've ever cared for is dead, or as good as.

But then he realises something.

He is twenty three, and for so long he has held some sort of anger – anger at the Chancellor, for banning second children and forcing him to help keep Octavia locked up for sixteen years. Anger at the Chancellor and the Council for choosing to send the hundred to Earth – including Octavia. Anger at Shumway, for forcing him to shoot Jaha just so he could keep his sister safe. Anger at Clarke, for trying to take control and limit what the hundred did on the ground. Anger at the Grounders, at the Mountain Men, at the adults descending from the Ark.

Anger at everyone … but the one person he can't hold the anger for that long is stood in front of him, sky blue eyes big and sad and watching him, waiting for the next words, the rest of the outburst.

His emotions get the better of him. There will be no better time to tell her.

'I don't want to feel that way anymore.' His eyes search hers. He hopes to see recognition, to see some realisation shooting behind those beautiful eyes that he doesn't just mean that he wants to let go of his anger – that he means he doesn't want to ever have a reason to be angry, that he doesn't want to feel like he's ever going to lose her again.

He watches her lips curl up in a hint of a smile as her gaze drops, and he thinks she knows. He watches, waiting, as she looks out to the ocean, biting her lower lip as if mulling over the idea. He hopes she is. He hopes she knows, and she's realising the same things he is right now.

They are together for more reasons than that they were the two loudest voices of reason – albeit different reason – at the very beginning. They are fire and ice. Brain and heart.

Ying and yang.

Where she is logical, and can be ruthless when she needs to be (the irradiation of more than three hundred people to save a hundred or so proved that), he is open and will think first of the innocents. Where she is hard, he is soft. He has become soft in caring for another.

They compliment one another, and they work well together. They are the perfect match, forged in the flames of blood and death and hell but always coming together, always seeking the other out willingly – and if that isn't enough for her to realise that there's something deeper then he doesn't know what is.

She doesn't look at him as she replies.

'You know you're not the only one trying to forgive yourself?' Again, a half smile, just for a fleeting second.

His eyes drop. He realises. She isn't open to that, not right now. She isn't letting him in. But he swallows his feelings down, and nods ever so slightly. 'Maybe we'll get that someday?' Her voice gets higher at the end, sounding almost imbued with hope. He's not sure now, if she's talking about forgiveness or the chance for the happiness he's seeking with her.

He looks away, trying to pull his emotions back in. Trying to put a stopper back in the dam he's just opened in letting himself believe even for a minute that now is the right time. But there is little chance of that. The floodgates are open.

He turns his head to the other side, under the guise now of wiping his tears away. He's not entirely sure they are from the emotion of talking about Octavia and Lincoln, or if they're from his heart cracking at knowing he may _never_ find the right time.

It is them, after all. Something is always happening, stopping them having a moment to just relax and be themselves.

'But we _need_ each other, Bellamy.' Her voice is strong, much stronger than his would be, and she speaks the truth. They do. They need each other in so many ways, but right now, they need each other as co-leaders. As the people they have become in this war to survive.

He can meet her gaze now, and does so, almost in control again. His lips are still tight, and he can't bring himself to speak, but they've never needed to.

'What we're doing now, the only way we're going to pull this off is _together_.'

He knows this, too. Just like Mount Weather – they will only have the strength if the other is there beside them. They are weaker apart, and they cannot afford to be weak right now. He nods again, eyes on the sand beneath their feet.

He can do this. For now, at least, he can stand beside her as they take on this battle. His eyes flick to Octavia for a brief moment, watching as she stacks the fire with Jasper. For Octavia's sake, he will hold it together. He will support Clarke, and she him, through the oncoming battle.

And whatever else O needs, she will get.

He looks back at Clarke, eyes still glistening, but determined now. No more words pass between them. Maybe he didn't hide his emotions as well as he thought, or maybe Clarke is wishing that now could be that time – or maybe that's just wishful thinking – for in the next moment, she is reaching out to wrap her arms around his neck.

He allows himself this chance to hold her, one hand coming up to the back of her neck, grasping at her hair as he buries his face in the crook of her shoulder. He will not cry, will not mourn a relationship that does nto yet exist, but he will take her in. Absorb her feel, her smell. Let himself imagine for a moment.

He raises his head after a long moment, pressing his cheek against hers.

And then he hears the disturbance in the water, turns his attention to them as Clarke's arms slip from around his neck as she clues in as well. His hand flies to his gun, but he isn't fast enough; one pulls him to the floor, and a second quickly follows suit with Clarke.

There will always be some pressing matter getting in their way.


End file.
